Jewels
by Kristen Elizabeth
Summary: You're falling in love with a ghost. And she's the one who'll get hurt. Gregcentric, mild GSR w minor spoilers for Way To Go
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I was recently request/challenge to write a CSI story that doesn't totally revolve around GSR; this is what I came up with, a Greg-centric story that's pretty heavy-handed with the Geek Love. 'Cause I loves the Geek Love. I got some nice feedback from the peeps on the geekfiction LJ community (thanks, ladies...and possibly gentlemen), so I hope you give it a chance, and that you enjoy it if you do! Thanks;)

* * *

Jewels

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

_Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave;  
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind._

_- Edna St. Vincent Millay_

* * *

Greg knew three things about the body that had just been pulled from a dumpster on Fremont Street. One, it was female. Two, she had probably bled out after having her throat cut clean to the bone. And three…this was going to take hours.

"Hello, overtime," Sara said as she approached the scene, kit in hand. "Dumpster diving has never been my favorite sport."

"Female vic." David, the junior coroner started his preliminary examination. "Anywhere from her early twenties to her late thirties. Hard to tell with all the blood and makeup. She was most likely dumped here. Extent of rigor mortis gives us a TOD of approximately ten hours ago. No ID on her, but judging from her clothes alone…I'd say she's probably in the system for something."

"Yeah, I was gonna say hooker." Greg snapped a picture. "Dangerous profession."

"Let's not judge our books by their covers, boys," Sara reminded them. "A short skirt and too much eyeliner does not necessarily translate to streetwalker." She knelt down next to the body. After a moment, she smiled triumphantly and picked up the woman's left hand. "Have you ever seen a hooker with real carats?"

The diamonds and sapphires on her ring finger at least gave them one clue to start on. "So, we can rule out robbery," Greg said. "But she could just be a really good hooker. Who, um, happens to be engaged. They could be fakes."

Sara stood back up. "You know, Nick and Warrick would put money on this sort of thing. What do you say? Loser has to clean out the fridge in Grissom's office."

Greg was tempted to point out that she was the one sleeping with the man, and should rightfully have to deal with his stale blood and frozen beetles. But he held his tongue. Because Sara still needed to believe that it was a secret.

"You're on," he agreed.

They processed the scene in comfortable silence. While they dusted the dumpster for prints, David loaded the body into the coroner's van and took it back to the morgue for the preliminary autopsy.

It was only when he was faced with mounds of garbage that Greg regretted his choice to move out of the lab and into the field. There was no guarantee that the contents of the dumpster would contain even a single clue. But every item had to be examined and catalogued for future reference. Just in case.

"I've got about a dozen prints," Sara said an hour later.

Greg wiped sweat off his brow with the sleeve of his standard-issue jumpsuit. He was standing in the middle of the dumpster, shoveling junk into the bags to be taken back to the lab. "In this area of town, we could get hits on every single one of them."

"Thanks for jinxing us."

"Just being realistic." He tied off the last bag and sighed. "Be honest. Do I smell?"

She smirked as she began lifting the prints. "Let's just say, you've smelled better."

"I knew it." Greg climbed out of the dumpster with the bag and set it next to the others. "You've been sniffing me."

"There's nothing worse than coming in on the middle of a conversation." Grissom startled them both as he appeared in the alley, carrying his own kit.

Greg snuck a look at Sara. He had to hand it to her…to both of them, actually. Unless you were looking for it…the faint tinge in her cheeks or the natural ease between them…you couldn't even tell that their relationship had changed within the past six months or so.

"What are you doing here?" she asked their supervisor.

"I wrapped up my case, so I thought I'd swing by to see if you needed an extra set of hands." Grissom eyed the pile of evidence bags. "But it seems I came too late."

Sara handed him a tape lift. "We can always find a use for you."

Unlike the others who loved nothing more than subtly torturing the couple, Greg was more apt to cut them some slack by giving them alone time. Besides, he was eager to get back to the body and find out whether or not he'd be cleaning Grissom's fridge.

"I'm morgue-bound," he declared. "See you back at the lab."

When he glanced back at them as he walked away, laden down the fruits of the dumpster, they were standing shoulder to shoulder as they worked. Greg shook his head.

Did they really think that they were fooling anyone?

* * *

"All I can tell you is that if she is a hooker, she's the most diligently hygienic hooker ever to cross my table."

Greg frowned at Doc Robbins. "That's gonna require further explanation."

The older man half-smiled. "Most working girls display some…wear and tear for lack of a better phrase. Signs of disease, drug-use, malnutrition. This girl is clean. In more ways than one."

"You did a rape kit?"

"Mmm. No semen present, although she's probably been sexually active recently."

He sighed. It was looking more and more like Sara would get out of cleaning duty. "Okay, what about ID?"

"Prints are running. No tattoos, distinguishing piercings or birthmarks." The coroner glanced down at the body. "Beautiful girl."

For the first time, Greg took a good look at the victim. With all the blood and makeup washed away, she was more than a little attractive. Dark hair, delicate features. Sleeping Beauty. The deep gash across her pale throat marred her silent repose.

She was the sort of girl he would have pursued if he'd met her in a bar or a club. He probably would have made an idiot of himself, but he would have tried. She would have been worth it.

Greg stepped away from the table. "Let me know, Doc."

* * *

Sara and Grissom returned the lab several hours later. AFIS had yet to spit out a name for their Jane Doe and he was starting to lose confidence that they'd identify her by the end of the shift.

"We could start going through the missing persons reports," Sara offered.

"Can you handle that? I think I'm going to start on the trash," Greg said. "Might as well get it over with."

He sifted and sorted and recorded until his stomach growled for breakfast. Just after dawn, Sara popped her head into the layout room and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Nothing so far. You?"

Greg shook his head. "Bupkis. Are you taking off?"

"Yeah." She looked him up and down. "Listen…go home. Get some sleep. You look like hell."

"I feel like it," he admitted. "But breakfast comes first. What do you say?"

There it was again. The very palest of blushes that gave it all away. She already had plans. And they definitely didn't include pancakes.

"Never mind," Greg continued. "Rain check."

He tried not to laugh at Sara's look of relief. Go Grissom. Pushing fifty, but still gettin' lucky.

* * *

Three days passed. AFIS gave them nothing on their victim, and only dead-end leads on the prints from the dumpster. As for the contents of the dumpster, Greg had nothing but a literal pile of garbage.

The body still lay in the morgue, waiting on identification and release for burial. The first time Greg had gone to see her, he'd told himself it was just to search for any clues they might have overlooked. The second time, his excuse was that he was there on another case, and he was just checking on her.

The third time, he just wanted to see her. He had a few toes over the line into weird, and he accepted that.

It was just wrong that a woman like this could be blinked out of existence…and no one seemed to care. No family or friends to bury her, mourn her, remember her. It was as though her life hadn't mattered at all.

And it didn't matter that he'd seen this sort of thing before. Dozens of victims who went to the grave unnamed and unknown. Somehow this time it was different.

So…maybe he had more like a whole foot over that line.

* * *

Another two days passed and Greg's attention was demanded on other cases. But the Sleeping Beauty in the morgue was never far from his thoughts.

So when Sara entered the break room and announced that she'd matched a missing persons report, it was all Greg could do to keep from jumping up in way too much excitement.

"Who filed it?" he asked Sara.

"The victim's sister."

He frowned. "Have we confirmed that already?"

Sara's eyebrows lifted. "Oh yeah."

"DNA?" She shook her head. "Family photo?" Again, she shook her head. Greg was starting to get a bit frustrated. "Sara, give me a break."

"This one…you're just going to have to see for yourself." Sara paused. "She's waiting in the lobby."

There was some little part of his brain that told him to take his time as he walked the familiar hallways that led to the front of the lab. But curiosity won out in the end, and he found himself rushing to get there as quickly as possible. He barely even noticed Sara trailing behind him.

A woman stood at the reception desk, her back to him as he came around the corner. She was wearing a long, black coat, and her hair was tucked up into a hat. There was nothing distinctive about her from this angle.

Behind him, Sara cleared her throat. "Miss Mays?"

She turned. And Greg's stomach landed somewhere around his ankles.

He'd seen this face already, only slack and pale in death. Sleeping Beauty. Sleeping no more. Alive and in front of him.

"Miss Mays, this is Greg Sanders. He's also a part of the investigation. Greg, this is Regan Mays."

Sara could have told him, could have prepared him. But could he really have ever been truly prepared for meeting this victim's identical twin sister?

"Mr. Sanders." She held out her right hand. There was a ring on her middle finger that he'd also seen before. Sapphires and diamonds. When Greg didn't take her hand after a long minute, she withdrew it. "Miss Sidle has already told me about…" Her voice wavered until it gave it out.

All Greg could say was, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Regan nodded her head and a dark lock of hair worked its way out of her hat and snaked down her cheek. When she looked up, she'd regained control. "I want to see my sister." There was a moment's pause. "Can you take me to her?"

Sara answered for him. "Of course we can."

As she passed by, Greg smelled lilies. Death's flowers. It was oddly appropriate.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Muchos, muchos, muchos appreciation for those people who, even after seeing that this wouldn't be my standard GSR fare, gave the first chapter a chance. My love and gratitude to you all. I sincerely hope you like the second chapter as much;)

* * *

Jewels

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"I went out of town on a business trip. I'm a personal assistant and my boss had a conference." Regan paused to wipe away fresh tears. "When I got back into town, my first call was to Maia. She never answered. I went to her apartment. Nothing. Obviously. That was two days ago."

Greg cleared his throat. "You know, you don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do." Straightening her shoulders, she nodded at him to remove the cloth that covered her sister's body.

He lowered it slowly, but nothing could have eased the moment, or prevented the shocked gasp that escaped her throat.

What must it be like, he wondered, to look down at yourself on a coroner's table? Or was she, after a lifetime of being one in a set, so used to having a copy that she could separate herself from her twin even like this?

"Oh Maia…" Regan reached out a trembling hand to touch her sister's limp hair. "What happened to you?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Greg answered. "Anything that you can tell us about your sister will help."

"Do you have any siblings, Mr. Sanders?"

"Greg," he corrected her.

"If you do…you might be able to understand that my sister's life was a mystery to me."

He watched her fingers stop just above the deep gash across Maia's throat. "But…she wasn't just your sister. She was your twin."

Regan nodded. "Genetically identical. But that's just biology."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

She pulled her hand back. "Two days before I left for Los Angeles. We had dinner at her apartment and called our parents. They live in Seattle."

"Did she say anything about having plans with anyone while you were gone?"

"Maia always had plans. Big ones. She just wasn't much on follow-through. It was her idea to move out here, you know. She wanted to dance in the shows. With a name like Maia Mays, she figured she was a shoe-in. She ended up waitressing. And I went to UNLV."

Greg hesitated. "Anything more specific than that?"

Regan shook her head. She'd removed her hat on the way to the morgue. Unlike her sister's which was stick-straight, her hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders. It was the only discernable difference between them. Except, of course, for the fact that one of them was dead. "I'm sorry, Greg." His name rolled off her tongue with fluid grace. "I don't know."

They were silent for a long time.

"Did you find her ring?" Regan finally asked, shattering the dead calm.

"We found a ring, yes." He tried not to frown at this. Perhaps it was merely an object of sentimental value and she had no interest in its monetary price. The job was leaving its mark; cynicism was starting to run in his veins.

She looked down at the one on her hand. "Our father gave them to us when we graduated high school."

"Then…can you explain why we found Maia's on her left ring finger? We thought she was engaged."

Regan nodded. "It was her thing. When she was out at a club or a bar and she was hit on by a guy she wasn't interested in…she'd move her ring so she could pretend to be unavailable."

Greg filed the information away. If she'd been found with her ring on her left hand, chances were she'd been out on the night she died. And possibly had run into an unwanted suitor.

"Unless you need it for something, I'd like to have it."

"I'll have to get back to you about that." He paused. "Anything more you could tell us could only help us find who did this."

She closed her eyes. "I can't tell you what I don't know."

Her shoulders were shaking and Greg had to fight to keep from putting an arm around her. She looked completely lost.

"If you think of anything…" He fumbled in his jacket pocket for his card and a pen. Without even thinking about it, he scribbled his home number on the back. "Give me a call. Anytime."

Regan slipped the card into her own pocket. "Thank you, Greg. For taking care of my sister."

He lowered his head. "Again…I'm really sorry for your loss."

"So am I." She leaned over and lightly kissed her sister's cold forehead. "Bye, Mai." When she straightened up, he could see her lower lip trembling. "Can you do something for me?"

"Um…sure."

"Can you say, "Later, Reganator?" A ghost of a smile graced her shapely lips. "I just…need to hear it one more time."

Greg figured he was probably violating some sort of CSI to victim's family protocol, but the pleading look in her eyes was too compelling for him to deny her simple request.

"Later, Reganator."

Tears ran in rivers down her cheeks. She backed away from her sister's body and quietly slipped out of the morgue.

He didn't hear Sara enter a minute later and was a little startled when she asked, "Was she able to tell you anything?"

Greg related the pertinent information, his eyes on Maia the whole time. Sara came up behind him as he talked. When he was done, she put a hand on his shoulder. "Must have been weird. Standing here with both of them."

"I didn't really notice," he lied. "I was focused on her story."

"Do you think it's just that? A story?"

He craned his neck around to give her a look. "I have no reason to believe she's lying."

"You did say she asked about the ring pretty quickly." Sara shrugged. "That would have set off warning bells in my head."

"You weren't here. You didn't see…she's devastated, Sara."

Holding up her hands, she surrendered. But knowing Sara, it would only be for the moment. "Okay. For now, we'll just start with Maia Mays. Find out everything we can about her. Starting with her apartment." She paused. "I assume you'll want to be in on that?"

Greg tugged the sheet back up over Maia's face. "Yeah. I will."

* * *

To enter a victim's residence was to invite yourself into their life without allowing them any say in the matter. For most of the unfortunate people whose lives he had to invade this way, the last time they'd left home truly had been the last time. Everything was usually more or less the way they'd left it, on the naïve assumption that they'd be back eventually. It was doubtful that any of them had even the slightest inkling that he'd be there in their place, picking through their pasts to solve their murders.

Maia Mays was no different.

"The woman liked the finer things in life." Across the small area that passed for a living room, Sara picked up a brand new iPod that had been left behind. "Didn't her sister say she was a waitress?"

Greg's eyes roamed over the entertainment center. A plasma TV, a DVD player…all top of the line. "Well, she mentioned their parents. Maybe these were gifts from them."

"I'll go with gifts," Sara mused. "But I'm thinking she had other sponsors besides Mom and Dad. Can you say 'sugar daddy'?"

"There's no proof of that," he found himself snapping. "You're jumping to conclusions and putting the victim's life on trial."

Sara said nothing for a moment. "You know what? I'll take the bedroom. You cool off and then join me."

When he was alone, ran his fingers through his hair, pushing his messy bangs off his forehead. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off Sara. So why was he getting so defensive over the reputation of a dead woman?

Probably for the same reason he'd visited her body three times in the morgue.

Maia Mays fascinated him, first with the contrast between her beauty and the fact that she'd been forgotten, and now with the mystery of her life. Greg wanted to know more about her. And he didn't want Sara passing any judgments before he'd learned everything he could.

Still, he had to play nice. Especially with the woman who was sleeping with the boss.

"Sorry," Greg said as he entered the bedroom a minute later. "I won't insult you by using the excuse that I haven't been sleeping well the past week or so. I'm just…"

"It's okay." Sara looked up from the dresser and flashed him a forgiving smile. "Sometimes I forget that you haven't been doing this for so long that they can't still get under your skin. Just remember…Maia Mays is dead. Nothing that's said about her life can hurt her now."

Greg lifted a shoulder. "Maybe not her. But what about her family?"

"I gather from what you told me that Regan has very few illusions about her twin."

He murmured a non-committal reply. "Find anything?"

"Nothing really interesting. She liked her underwear like she liked her electronics. Expensive." Sara held up a pink compact. "She was on the Pill."

"Think we should check the bed for…um…"

"Foreign DNA samples?" she supplied. "Doc didn't find any semen, right?"

"Still, it might be useful down the line." Greg waited until Sara nodded before he set down his kit and pulled out his ALS equipment. Sliding a pair of red glasses on, he hit the lights.

"Nothing on the bedspread," he announced a moment later. But the minute he turned it down, the sheets lit up. All over. A cold hand clenched his gut. This wasn't the result of one partner, one time, unless the man was a machine. This spoke of many encounters, possibly with more than one cohort.

"Well…" Sara shook her head. "At least we know she wasn't on the Pill just to regulate her periods."

* * *

Grissom joined them as they were about to enter the bathroom.

"Come to check up on us?" Sara teased him, an extra sparkle in her eyes. When he said nothing to this, her brow crinkled. "What's wrong?"

He looked at Greg. "What impression did you get of Maia Mays's sister?"

"Identical twin," Greg corrected him. "She was upset. Like any grieving family member. Why?"

"Brass was doing a standard background check on her. Just to confirm her story." Grissom paused. "According to her statement, she was in Los Angeles when her sister was murdered."

"Yeah. That's what she…" Greg stopped when Grissom started shaking his head. "What did Brass find out?"

"She was in L.A. But she cut her trip short. Her boss told Brass that she got a phone call and asked to leave early. Family emergency, she said. The time it would have taken her to get back to Vegas puts her in the city hours before her twin was murdered."

Sara blew out a short breath. "She'd have no reason to lie about that, unless…"

Greg looked Grissom straight in the eye. "Let's bring her in again."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks everyone, for all the kind support!

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Jewels

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

Regan had replaced her black overcoat with a brown one, just as shapeless and nondescript. She'd pulled her dark hair back at the base of her neck, taking ten years off her face, which bore no trace of makeup.

Greg thought of the clothes they'd found in Maia's closet. Strapless tops, leather skirts, high heels. How could one twin put herself on display, while the other did everything possible to hide?

The interrogation room looked so big around her as she sat across the table from him and Brass. She probably had no idea that she was even further on display, as Sara and Grissom were watching from the other side of the one-way glass.

Regan reached for the cup of water she'd requested and took a sip. "My so-called family emergency was just a way to get back to town quickly. My boss…he's not a bad guy, but when he drinks, he'll make a pass at anything. Even me." She shrugged. "I admit. I got back earlier than I claimed."

"Then why did you lie about it?" Greg jumped in, cutting off Brass who was about to ask the same thing. "You were back in town before your sister was murdered. That's a pretty big discrepancy."

"And what would you have thought of someone who didn't realize her sister was missing for over a week?" Regan looked away for a long moment. "Maybe if I'd called her when I got back…"

Brass shot Greg his patented skeptical look. Greg cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Did you ever fight with your twin, Ms. Mays?"

"We were sisters. Of course we fought," she replied softly.

"Did you kill her?" Brass asked point-blank.

Regan slowly turned her head, but instead of looking at the detective, her stare settled on Greg. "If you really think I'm capable of killing my twin…you're not the man I thought you were."

Greg knew that Brass was watching him, and that Grissom and Sara were doing the same, but he couldn't look away from Regan. Her eyes were clear, hazel, unwavering.

"Okay, why don't we take this back a step," Brass suggested. "Tell us what you and Maia fought about."

Finally, she blinked. "We were very different people, no matter what we looked like on the outside. And we led very different lives."

"She was a party girl," the detective supplied. "You weren't."

"Maia knew how to have a good time."

"Did she have a boyfriend?" Greg asked, surprised at the hoarseness in his voice. "We found…evidence that she might have had one."

Regan rubbed the pad of her index finger in circles over her temple. "I'm sure she had more than just one." There was a pause. "Look, I shouldn't have lied about when I got back into town. But I swear, the last time I saw Maia was two days before I left. And she was alive. It's hard enough knowing that I was here when someone…did that to her, but being accused of having been the one to do it is too much." She pushed away from the table. "Can I go now? My parents are a wreck; I'm having to handle everything to do with my sister's burial."

"The coroner hasn't released the body yet," Greg said.

"Yeah." She slung her purse over her shoulder. "I know."

* * *

They ordered dinner from his favorite Chinese take-out, but Greg wasn't all that hungry. He picked at his sweet and sour shrimp as Sara and Grissom reviewed the evidence thus far.

"We went over every inch of that apartment with ALS and luminol," Sara noted. "No blood. She wasn't killed at home."

Grissom chewed thoughtfully before adding, "Have we accounted for her whereabouts up until her time of death?"

"Brass went to all the bars and clubs within five blocks of the scene. No one remembers seeing Maia Mays on the night she died." With her chopsticks, Sara snuck a water chestnut from Grissom's plate and popped it into her mouth. "I collected a journal and a day planner from her place. I'll start going through them, see if we can find any of her friends."

"Maybe they'll know what she had planned for the last night of her life," Grissom said, using his own chopsticks to fend off Sara's attempt to steal another bite. "Since the sister's not being cooperative."

"We accused her of murdering her twin," Greg blurted out, seizing the couple's attention. He stuck his fork in his carton and pushed it aside. "Can you blame her?

Grissom glanced at Sara. "Greg, if you've got some personal issue with this case, now is the time to tell us. Your behavior recently has been…uncharacteristic."

He glared at Sara. "You talked to Grissom about me?"

"Not the way you're thinking," she defended herself. "But you haven't been yourself lately. And I was worried about you. I think you're getting too involved."

"And I agree," Grissom added. "What we saw today in the interrogation room…"

"Look, normally I don't care what you two do on your free time." Greg shot to his feet and threw down his crumpled napkin. "But keep me out of your pillow talk."

He regretted his words all the way to the locker room. Banging his forehead against the cold metal, Greg waited for his breathing to steady. The problem was not that he'd been discussed.

The problem was…they weren't wrong.

* * *

Greg got home, put on a movie and fell asleep before the South Park kids started singing. His phone woke him up hours later; the DVD had cycled back to the menu. Peeling himself off his couch, he answered it without checking the caller ID.

"Hello?"

It took a moment for the caller to whisper, "Greg?"

Suddenly, he was fully awake. "Regan?"

"I'm sorry to bother you." He heard a soft sniffling sound on the other end. "I just didn't have anyone else to talk to."

Greg ran a hand down the length of his face, feeling a light layer of stubble. There were a million reasons why he should have hung up, not the least of which was that he could be taken off the case. But she could have some new information about her sister's death. Or life.

_I think you're getting too involved._

Maybe Sara was right. But he was past the point where he could stop himself. If he'd even wanted to.

"It's okay," he said, settling back into the couch. "You can talk to me."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: I'm loving all y'all out there who are reading/reviewing. You rock!

* * *

Jewels

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Daddy called us his jewels. The sapphire is our birthstone. The diamonds…they were just for show." Regan paused. "We've worn the rings every day since we graduated high school. Eight years now."

"My parents gave me a briefcase," Greg told her. "Just what every college-bound, eighteen year old guy wants."

"Do you still have it?"

"I dig it out of the closet whenever they're in town and stuff it with papers. They're going to start catching on to the fact that the leather always looks brand-new soon."

She laughed faintly. "What will you do then?"

"Sadly inform them that due to overuse, I had to buy a new one to replace it."

As the conversation entered its second hour, Greg found himself more relaxed than he had been in days, if not weeks. They'd talked about everything. Movies, current events, music, politics. They'd never been at a loss for words, in the entire two hours.

But the one thing they hadn't discussed was the night of Maia's murder.

Regan delicately cleared her throat. "Do you get along with your parents?"

"I got along with them a lot better when I was safely tucked away in the DNA lab," he admitted. "Even after the lab explosion…" They'd already covered this topic, when she'd asked him if he had any scars, physical or emotional. "…I can't seem to convince them that being in the field isn't any more or less potentially dangerous than staying cooped up inside. They don't care that I enjoy my work about a hundred times more now. All they hear is that I have to carry a gun. And that's apparently too much for them."

"Parents," she mused.

"Tell me about yours."

Regan was quiet for a moment. "My parents played favorites."

She didn't elaborate, and Greg was disinclined to pressure her into continuing. Truth be told, he was enjoying himself too much. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just talked to a woman. Especially not a warm, funny, sweet one. Who happened to be gorgeous beneath her overcoats and hats.

"What do think happened to my sister?" she asked a few seconds later.

Although he should have been relieved the topic had finally been broached, Greg wasn't sure he wanted to take the conversation back to business. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I've been trained not to jump to conclusions before all the evidence is in. And there's so much we still don't know about that night."

Regan hesitated, a half-second that under any other circumstances would have caught his attention. "What do you know?"

His phone beeped in his ear, the call waiting signal. He glanced at the screen. SARA--CELL.

"Regan," Greg said with a sigh. "I have to go. Work."

"It's okay," she accepted with a sigh of her own. "All good things come to an end, right?" Regan paused. "Thank you. I needed this."

"We can do it again sometime," he heard himself suggesting. "If you want, I mean."

"I'd love to."

He didn't say it, but he certainly thought it. _Me too._

* * *

It wasn't surprising that there was a touch of friction between him and Sara when he arrived back at the lab. Greg wasn't stupid. He realized that the fear of what he'd accused them of doing, namely blurring the line between their professional and personal lives, had probably been what kept them apart for so long.

He owed credit for much of his current career to them both. Grissom had given him a chance to get out of the lab, and Sara had guided him once he was. And how had he returned those massive favors? He'd thrown their concern back in their faces.

Greg accepted the frostiness in Sara's voice when she addressed him as better than he probably deserved. "Brass managed to track down a name from Maia's day planner," she told him. "She's agreed to come in and talk to us."

Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants, Greg nodded. "Listen, Sara…" She folded her arms and waited for him to go on. "I owe you another apology. What I said…it wasn't fair. To either of you."

"How long have you known?"

He shrugged. "Awhile."

Sara looked down at her shoes. "Does everyone know?"

"Nick still talks about setting you up with his friends. And Catherine thinks you're going to wind up alone except for a hundred cats. So, no. I think I'm the only one."

A smile tugged at her lips. "Good." She unfolded her arms and walked to him. "Greg, Grissom and I don't discuss anyone or anything work-related when we're not on the clock. But I did talk to my supervisor about a co-worker." Sara studied him for a moment, frowning. "Did you sleep at all? You look like death warmed over."

"Uh, yeah. I caught a couple of hours." It wasn't a total lie; he had slept through the entire _South Park_ movie.

Her eyebrow shot up. "This is what I talked to him about. You're pushing yourself so hard on this one. And I can't figure out why. What is it about this case that's got you so obsessed?"

Because he didn't want another thing to apologize for, Greg held back from reminding Sara Sidle that she was last the person who should be giving anyone this particular lecture.

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I can't explain it." He dug his hands into his pockets. "She's in my head."

"Which one?"

Her quietly spoken question struck a deeply buried chord; Greg froze in place.

"Greg, I see you heading down a dangerous path." Sara looked like she wanted to reach out and take his hand, but she held herself back. "You're falling for a ghost. And she's the one who'll get hurt."

"I don't know what that means."

She gave him a look she must have learned from Grissom. "There's a reason why we don't get personally involved in a victim's life. If we care about them too much, we lose our impartiality. And then we lose the rabbit we're chasing." She paused. "You can't investigate Maia's death if you're too caught up learning about her life."

"I hear what you're saying. I do. But seriously, Sara…I don't think it's like that."

"Really?"

Greg nodded. "So, thanks, but don't worry. I'm a big boy. Almost out of training pants."

Sara looked at him for a minute, as if deciding whether or not to pursue the issue. She must have decided against it, because she dropped her chin in a motion of acknowledgement. When she looked up, her eyes fairly glinted with mischief. "You know you're going to have to apologize to Grissom, too."

"Yeah," he heaved a sigh. "I know."

"And nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a clean fridge." Sara put her hand to her cheek innocently. "Say…didn't you lose that bet anyways?"

Brass saved him by choosing that exact moment to call Sara's cell phone. They spoke for a short moment before Sara closed up the phone again. "Maia's friend is at the station. Looks like you're off the hook." She shot him another look. "For now."

It didn't make him feel good to lie to Sara on top of everything else. But he took minor comfort in the knowledge that she wasn't totally right on this one.

Because he wasn't so sure it was about Maia anymore.

* * *

"It really wasn't a big deal to be stood up by Maia." Jillian examined one long, acrylic nail. "Trust me, it was way weirder when she actually showed up for something she planned."

Sara made a note on the pad in front of her. "So, when she didn't meet you all at the club, no one thought to find out why?"

"Well, we figured we knew why. She was shacked up with a hottie. Or two. Maia liked things in triplicate, if you get my drift."

Greg frowned at the girl. "You don't seem all that sorry about her death."

"We just hung out. It's not like I was her twin."

"You knew about Regan, then?" Sara asked.

Jillian rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Maia complained about her enough."

"What did she say about her?" Greg demanded.

"I don't know. Stuff like…how boring she was. How she was always trying to get Maia to 'shape up'," she quoted with her fingers. "I never met her, but Maia always said she was a saintly little bitch."

Greg felt Sara's eyes on him for a moment before she asked, "Is there anything else you can tell us? Anything about that night, or about Maia?" The girl shrugged her bony shoulders. "All right." Sara dropped her pen. "You have Detective Brass's card. If you think of something, let us know."

A uniformed officer saw Jillian out and Sara pushed her pad away from her in frustration. "So, basically we just spent half an hour with a future Mrs. Charlie Sheen, and the only thing more we know is that Maia hated her sister and wasn't known for her punctuality. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

"Knowing that she hated her sister is something," Greg reminded her. "I mean, Regan indicated that they weren't exactly the Bobbsey twins. But hate? That's just mind-boggling. How could she hate Regan? Even if they were radically different, they were still sisters. And Regan is anything but a saintly little…" He trailed off when he caught Sara's stare. "What?"

"Oh, Greg." Sara looked up at the ceiling. "Please tell me that it's not worse than I thought."

"Sara…" He attempted a scoffing laugh, but it got caught in his throat. "You watch too much TV."

She looked back at him with narrow eyes. "If it's true, you've gotta nip it in the bud. Because as of right now, Regan Mays is the only suspect we've got. And falling for a suspect is way worse than falling for a dead woman." She paused. "Do I have to ask how far it's gone?"

"Only if you don't trust me," Greg shot back.

After a minute, she visibly relaxed. "Let's get back to the lab. You can drive."

That was Sara's way of apologizing and he accepted it.

* * *

His phone rang later that night as his ramen noodles soaked in hot water. He recognized the number almost immediately and his hand reached for the phone. But he stopped short. Sara's words replayed in his head. That was happening a lot lately.

For someone who was sleeping with her supervisor, she sure was getting sanctimonious.

Greg grabbed the phone before he could change his mind. "Regan?"

"Have I caught you at a bad time?" she asked. Her voice prompted an instant smile to spread across his face.

"Nah," he replied. He took his dinner over to the couch and sat down, settling in for the evening. "Actually, I was just thinking about you."

* * *

To Be Continued 


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Big hugs and kisses and chocolate chip cookies to those of you who are reading this story;)

* * *

Jewels 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Greg. Greg! Hey!" 

Warrick's voice finally broke through. Greg glanced up from doctoring his coffee. "What?"

"The whistling. Cut it out."

"I was whistling?" He smirked. "I didn't notice."

The look he received could only be described as withering. "What's got you so annoyingly up, anyway?" Warrick asked, unfolding his newspaper. "You get laid?"

Greg coughed, cleared his throat, and flipped his co-worker off while he wasn't looking. "It just so happens that I'm in a good mood. Shoot me."

"So tempting…"

They were both saved by Grissom's entrance. "Taking a break, fellows?" he asked, crossing to the coffee pot.

"I've got stuff in trace," Warrick mused, his eyes still scanning his paper. His pager went off just then. "Hodges needs to learn to hold his damn horses."

Grissom poured himself a cup. "How many pages is that?"

"Two? Three? I lost count." With a sigh, Warrick folded up the paper and stood. "Yeah. I'm going."

His departure left a wake of awkward silence between them. Greg snuck a glance at Grissom. He was calmly sipping his coffee and scanning the headlines.

He cleared his throat. Now or never. "Uh…Grissom?"

"Yes, Greg?"

"There's…um…there's something I want…uh…you know…say. To you."

"Really?"

"I'm sorry," he blurted out.

Grissom looked up. "Sorry for what, Greg?"

He sighed. "C'mon. You know. For what I said. The other day."

Taking a thoughtful sip, Grissom inquired, "And what was that?"

"You know…the thing. The thing about you and…Sara."

"Sara?"

Greg threw up his hands. "See, now you're just torturing me!"

"Consider your apology accepted," his boss said with a smile. "As long as you also extend one to her."

"Already done." He frowned, puzzled. "I guess you two really don't talk about work stuff when you're at home."

Grissom stood up with his cup. "Home?" He gave Greg the smallest of winks as he left the break room.

He sat alone for five, maybe ten minutes, enough time for his mind to wander. He wasn't surprised where his train of thought took him; it seemed like all he had to do was blink and he'd see their face.

Greg crumpled his empty Styrofoam cup in his hand. In only a few hours, the shift would be over.

And Regan would call again. It didn't even occur to him to be worried about how much he was looking forward to it.

* * *

"You want to really know someone?" Brass entered the layout room where Sara, Grissom and Greg were going over the case. He plopped a file folder down in front of them. "Follow the money. Or in this case, the lack of money." 

Sara reached for the file first. "Maia Mays was broke," she said a moment later. "She had three credit cards, each with a fifteen thousand dollar limit, all maxed out. No savings. And her checking account had a total balance of..." Sara whistled. "Seventy-two dollars and thirty cents."

"Not only was she broke, she was broke with massive debts." Grissom read over Sara's shoulder.

"She wasn't living the life of pauper," Sara mused. "And she was still managing to pay her rent. Where was the money for that coming from?"

Grissom's eyebrows arched slightly. "Another gift from one of her gentlemen callers?"

"Or maybe she was getting money from somewhere else. Loans of a less than legitimate variety? That wouldn't show up on her credit report."

He countered, "Well, sharks generally don't have their borrowers killed, just bruised. If they have her throat slit, they don't ever get their money back."

"Unless they realized that she wouldn't ever be good for it. Then she becomes expendable and…"

"Guys!" Greg formed a 'T' out of his hands. "Time out! There's not a shred of evidence to support any of that."

They exchanged a look, but it was Brass who pointed out, "I bet her sister would know."

He answered without thinking. "They weren't all that close, but I'll ask her." Catching Sara's look, Greg quickly added, "When she comes in for another formal interrogation, of course."

"Of course," Grissom said, a second later. "Well. Keep us informed."

"Yeah." He forced a smile. "You got it, boss."

* * *

As soon as Greg got home, he jumped in the shower and washed the shift off. After changing into faded flannel pajama bottoms, he stood in front of his mirror for a few minutes, critiquing himself. The extra hours he put in at the gym here and there were starting to pay off. He flexed a few muscles, pleased at what he saw. 

He'd been expecting the phone to ring. But it was a knock on his front door that interrupted him.

When he answered the door, he instantly wished he'd taken the extra five seconds it would have taken to put on a shirt.

"Regan?" Her appearance on his doorstep had officially blown his mind. "You're here. At my apartment."

She'dditched the overcoat, but her shapeless sweater and jeans weren't much of an improvement. He was faintly surprised to discover that it didn't matter what she wore. Her face…that incredible face…was tear-streaked.

"I took a gamble that you were G. Sanders in the phone book." Regan bit her lip so hard he was afraid she'd draw blood. "I know I shouldn't be here. The phone calls are bad enough. But I just…" She stopped and shook her head. "I'm all alone. She's gone…and I lost half of me."

His co-workers could judge him all they liked, but he'd have challenged any of them to turn her away when her pain was so visible it actually hurt to witness it. He couldn't just pat her arm and send her away, not when she was breaking down in front of him.

Greg found himself reaching out, pulling her into an embrace. They stood still for a long time until Regan looked up at him. "I don't want to be alone tonight."

In for a penny, in for a pound. Everyone at the lab had their secrets; this would be his.

Greg led her into the apartment and shut the door behind them.

* * *

To Be Continued 


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to me. 

Author's Notes: Thanks everyone for reading and reviewing! Me love Greg. Me love Greg long time.

* * *

Jewels 

by Kristen Elizabeth

* * *

"Tell me about this one." With his head resting just below Regan's breast, Greg traced his index finger down a short scar on her lower abdomen. 

She combed his rumpled hair with her fingers. "Just my appendix."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yes." Regan's hand moved to his back and the web of delicate, pink lines where the lab explosion had permanently marked him. "Probably not as much at this."

"I barely remember it. Happened so fast," he murmured. "One second I was standing and the next I was on the floor."

"I was fourteen when I had my surgery. And I was happy about it because for the first time in my life, I had something Maia didn't. Even if it was appendicitis."

Greg lifted and turned his head to see her. "I can't imagine having to share a face with someone else."

"No one can, unless they have to." Regan looked up at the ceiling for a long time. "I miss her. Maybe we weren't best friends, but she was still my sister. You know?"

"Who was older?"

She swiped at her cheeks. "Um...me. By fifteen minutes. I'm a classic oldest child."

He sat up, suddenly aware of her tears. "Hey...we don't need to talk about any of this. Are you thirsty? Hungry? I can't promise you much here, but if you want to order out..."

"It's okay." Regan took his hand, lacing their fingers together. "You gave me exactly what I needed tonight."

Greg could feel his face warm up. "Well...trust me. It was my pleasure." He lowered himself back onto his elbow; she shifted into a similar position. They faced each other, still holding hands. "I gotta tell you...I haven't been able to stop thinking about you for days."

Her smile was flirty. "Does that mean that you've tried to stop thinking about me?"

"I should," he replied, seriously. "My co-workers think I've cracked. But they don't know you." With his free hand, Greg tucked a tangled curl behind her ear. "They wouldn't understand what I'm feeling."

Regan's lashes lowered. "What are you feeling?"

"I think I'm falling in love with you."

Her stare lifted and locked onto his. "Are you sure it's me you're in love with?" She squeezed his hand before he could say anything. "People loved Maia when she was alive. I wouldn't be surprised if that extended beyond the grave."

Greg shook his head. "No. It's you, Regan. Everything about you...I can't explain it, and maybe I shouldn't be able to. Because this stuff is supposed to be unexplainable. I don't know." He paused for a moment. "Here's what I do know. I'm happy when we're together. And when we're not...I'm counting down until we can be again. If that's not love...what is?"

Regan continued to stare at him, as she hadn't really seen him until that very moment.

Eventually, he could stand the silence no longer. "Did I just make a complete idiot out of myself, or is there any possibility that you might feel the same way?"

"I should go." Pulling away, Regan rolled out of bed, unconscious of her nudity as she began gathering her clothes. Momentarily frozen, Greg could only watch her hastily putting on all the things he'd so eagerly taken off earlier. When she had everything on but her shoes, she stopped and looked back at him. "My parents are flying in from Seattle. Have to be there to pick them up."

"So...this isn't because of what I just..."

She crawled across the rumpled sheets just long enough to give him a slow, thorough kiss. "I'll see you soon." Upon reaching the door to his room, Regan glanced back at him. "I don't run away from things like this, Greg. That was Maia's game." With a small smile and a quick, "Bye," she left.

Greg flopped back against the pillows and closed his eyes. Admittedly, it had been awhile for him. But he couldn't remember ever feeling this twisted up in knots over a woman.

"Must be love."

* * *

At work the next night, Greg discovered another downside to having incredible, mind-blowing, life-altering sex with the sister of a murder victim. The complete inability to concentrate on anything your boss was saying. 

Grissom might as well have been an adult in a Charlie Brown cartoon.

His eyelids must have been drooping as much as his attention because suddenly Sara's fingers appeared in his range of vision. Before he could stop her, she snapped them. Loudly.

"I'm here," Greg announced, sitting up straighter. "I've been here."

Sara gave him her sweet smile of death. "Then you can tell me all about Maia Mays' financial records."

"Um...didn't we already go over that? She was in debt up to her eyeballs. And you two think she might have been killed because of it." Without a word, Grissom handed him a bank statement. Greg squinted at it. "What am I looking for?"

"Two months before her death, a thousand dollars was wired into Maia's checking account," Sara said. "Guess who it came from? Regan Mays."

Greg smiled. "Well, that's Regan." When he looked up, both Grissom and Sara were watching him closely. Clearing his throat, he shoved the statement back into Grissom's hands. "So, she helped her twin out a little. Are we so cynical that we think family members helping each other is something worth investigating?"

"It is when a month later, another thousand, plus five hundred more, was wired into the same account." Grissom pulled out a second statement from a file and set it down on the table. "Again, from Regan."

"Pretty generous," Sara noted, her eyes narrowing just a bit, like they did when she was onto something. "Especially considering how Maia felt about her twin. Saintly little bitch, and all that."

Pushing the paper away, Greg leaned back in his chair and folded his arms defensively. "What are we talking about here?"

"I think..." Sara glanced at Grissom. "We need to start seriously looking at Regan Mays."

"Based on what?" he continued, coldly.

Grissom answered, "In two months, she gave her sister twenty-five hundred dollars. And instead of using the money to start getting herself out of debt, Maia blew it on MP3 players and parties. Maybe...Regan decided to put a permanent end to her freeloading."

"Forgetting for a second that Maia was her twin sister, a genetic copy of her own flesh and blood...how do you think this played out?" Greg looked his boss straight in the eye. "And yeah. I'm asking for a theory first. Since you don't have any real evidence."

Raising an eyebrow, Grissom accquiesced. "I think Regan drove back to Vegas early with the express purpose of confronting her sister. Cutting someone's throat is not a crime of passion, but of calculation."

"How do you explain the fact that we didn't find a drop of blood in Maia's apartment?" Greg interrupted, triumphantly.

"In Maia's apartment, no. But have we searched Regan's?" When Greg said nothing, he continued, "It probably wouldn't have taken a lot for Regan to lure Maia to her place. Maybe with the promise of another handout. Once there, she overpowered her sister, killed her and..."

"And what? Dumped her body?" Greg shook his head. "Regan is maybe a hundred and fifteen pounds. Maia was a hundred-ten. I don't see her carting that much dead weight around on her own."

"You'd be surprised what people can do under extreme circumstances," Grissom countered. "After you've been doing this for longer..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm the dumb rookie." He held up his hands. "Just bumbling by your side until I get my grown-up wings."

Sara's cell phone rang just then. "Thank god," she muttered as she opened it up. "Sidle." After listening for a moment, she nodded. "Thanks. I'll be there in a few." Closing her phone, Sara addressed the feuding duo. "As much fun as this verbal tennis game has been, Doc Robbins is requesting my presence." She stood up. "I never thought that I'd be happy to be heading to the morgue."

Once she was gone, Greg couldn't sit still any longer. Jumping to his feet, he ran all ten fingers through his hair. "I've got...stuff to do," was all he could get out. "I'll be around."

As he left the room, he had every intention of heading to trace to check on a few cases. But his legs carried him all the way down the hall, through the reception area, and out into the waning sunshine. Once he was seated in his car, he placed a single call.

"Regan," Greg said when she answered. "I really need to see you."

She hesitated only a second before giving him her address.

* * *

The morgue was cool and quiet as Sara entered. Instead of being greeted by Doc Robbins or David, a man and a woman were waiting for her in the hallway. They sat in a pair of chairs, hands clasped, heads bowed. 

"Hi, there," she said. They looked up at her. "I'm Sara Sidle."

The man introduced them. "Mark and Sherry Mays."

"Mr. and Mrs. Mays. I am very sorry for your loss." She sat in the empty seat next to Mark. "I'm one of the CSI's who's been investigating your daughter's death."

Sherry looked at Sara; her eyes were bloodshot. "We want to see Maia. We came all this way...you all aren't releasing her...her..." She stopped, too overcome to continue.

"Our investigation is on-going, Mrs. Mays," Sara said. "But I can take you to see Maia if that's what you want."

Mark nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down with his head. "That's what we want."

She stood up again. "Just follow me."

A few minutes later, Sara had the unpleasant task of lowering the sheet that covered Maia's body. She stopped just short of the slice across her neck; her parents didn't need to see that.

Maia's mother lost it instantly. She grabbed onto her husband, sobbing uncontrollably. Her father managed to hold himself together, even reaching out to touch his daughter's cold cheek. "She was our baby," he whispered. "Who could have done this to her?"

Sara looked down at her shoes. "That's what we're trying to determine," she replied, diplomatically. "Can you think of anyone? A boyfriend? An ex-boyfriend?"

"Regan would know about that kind of thing more than us." Mark's eyes shone with tears even as he smiled. "They were quite the pair. Inseperable when they were little."

"What happened?"

Putting his arm around his wife, he sighed. "I don't know. It must have happened when we weren't looking. Even now...all I can remember is them taking care of each other. Maia...helping Regan learn their ballet routine. Regan...bringing Maia ice cream after she had her appendix taken out. They loved each other."

Sara frowned as something he'd just saidnagged at her brain. Before she could think it through, Sherry pulled at her husband's arm. "I can't be here anymore. Mark...it's too hard."

"Okay. We'll go." He looked at Sara with the earnest trust she'd often seen in victim's family members. "Find who did this to my little girl."

"I promise I'll do my best."

They saw themselves out, clinging to one another, lost in grief that would never go away.

Once she was sure they were gone, Sara looked down at the body in front of her. She debated with herself for a moment before giving in to curiosity. Lifting up the sheet at the middle of Maia's body, her eyes searched for something, but found nothing.

The twin lying in the morgue had never had her appendix removed.

* * *

To Be Continued 


End file.
